


Breath of Life, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn reflects on what he's really fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath of Life, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

I am starting to feel my age.

The blood of Númenor is waning and some days I swear it has all but drained from my veins. My fate is now as much as a burden as the ring that Frodo carries. So much depends on him and his quest. I can only hope that he is finding his way safely, although uncertainty grows in my heart, as I know the creature Gollum tracks his every move.

Every action one does as of late affects us all, it seems. It is a trying time for all Middle-Earth. The shadow growing in our hearts and in the east rises every day. Our hope grows dim. My hope grows dim, and that is a foul thing indeed, for I _am_ Hope. The heir of Isildur. The Elfstone.

_Elessar_. It is that emerald jewel upon my chest that reminds me of why I must continue, why I will not quit until all is well and the Tree in the Court of the Fountain blossoms in peace. Those around me remark of my lineage, my kingly status, my dedication to reclaiming the throne of Gondor and serving its, no, _my people_. This, supposedly, is my incentive. If they would look but a little close, they would realise it is the giver and not the gift that eases the burdens of my heart.

There are times when I wonder if I would care so much for the crown had not my foster father raised his standards for a son-in-law. I would be here fighting, yes, but for the kingdom I care naught. I have seen the weight of such an important rank from my years serving Ecthelion. I am more than happy to let Denethor carry those worries. I do not know if I am worthy of such a fate. I do not know if I deserve such a fate. Nevertheless, the fate is mine and there are more important things than the mirth I hope for in my heart. Andúril will not be broken again.

She knows of my uneasiness. It was she who murmured words of encouragement and support in my ear in her dulcet voice. It is the memory of her that keeps me alert and ready, in high hopes that I will see her again. How I long to be in her presence again, wandering the valley of Rivendell, conversing about the fears in our hearts and the dreams we shared. Our minds, overloaded with duty, would take a rest from their woes and doubts and concentrate on the more affirmative things that could occur.

On my last visit to Lothlórien, I visited Cerin Amroth where we trothplighted on Midsummer, years ago. Amid the elanor and the niphredil once again, I called to her farewell, for I did not know if I would return to her side. I refused to say it to her face when we parted in Rivendell, but then again I had not promised to return either. Gandalf’s fall was a shock reminding me that I was a mere human, more subject to death than he. I would also not make the same mistake of my father Arathorn by making a promise I could not guarantee to keep. The blood of Númenor may grant a lifespan thrice that of a normal man, but it does not secure that privilege. I will not tempt fate.

Arwen vanimelda, namarië! Your spirit and mine linger together still; the shadow does not yet part us. Evenstar, it is you who will signify my end. It is you who keeps my moral high and heart light. Your fair memory, your gentle kisses, assuring me that there indeed is hope still. It is the breath of life for me, _melamin_ , and the only everlasting thing I possess.  



End file.
